


Not Wholly Fruitless

by OrodrethTheTraitor



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 13:06:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18993226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrodrethTheTraitor/pseuds/OrodrethTheTraitor
Summary: More about Erestor's adventures in Imladris...





	Not Wholly Fruitless

_Song of Rivendell: S.A. 1989_

* * *

Erestor chuckled softly.  "I have never seen him this drunk.  Not even when he and Elros were thirty, and got into Maglor's wine.  That earned the both of them a good lashing."

Glorfindel grimaced.  "He deserves another one."

"Indeed.  Let us hope that tonight will be forgotten."

Above them, the night sky was clear and full of stars, so Glorfindel prayed earnestly (as only a half-Vanya can) that the Mariner was not looking down upon the three of them.  But suddenly the warrior knew, in his innermost heart, that such a hope was vain.

"I fear, mellon nin, it will not be.  Ever."

And once again the wobbly refrain echoed:  _"Oh!  Tra-la-la-lally…"_

 

* * *

_Not Your Lord: T.A. 2260_

* * *

Word spread quickly through the Last Homely House that visitors from Eryn Galen had arrived.  This was not unusual, to be sure (though less usual than all would have liked), but these were not merely the usual traders or messengers, for among their number was their younger prince.  This was his first visit.

Lindir escorted the young prince down the hall, to the last door.  The one on the right, not yet Elrond’s, which was the one on the left.  He then knocked twice. 

A tall, bright-eyed Noldo opened the heavy door.

Lindir greeted the Elf formally, with a slight bow.  “Counsellor Erestor, it is my pleasure to introduce you to Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Eryn Galen.”  

Said Elf replied only “Thank you, Lindir.  That will be all.”  

He turned to his noble guest, and gestured formally to the waiting chairs.  “Prince Legolas, welcome to Imladris.  Please come in.  Do you take coffee?  A Mannish drink from Harad, but I have come to enjoy it.”

Legolas bowed, entered, and answered, equally formally.  “Thank you, my lord.  I think I will.”

His host then sat in a rather excessively (to Legolas’ opinion) ornately carved chair, and waited as the prince refreshed himself. 

And then said — “I am not a lord of anything, any more.  Unfortunately.”

If Elves ever stammered, Legolas most certainly would have.  After some consideration of how to reply, and how best to address his host - “My condolences” did not seem appropriate, and “my former lord” was plainly ridiculous, he went with the safe option and merely said “Ah.”

His host nodded, seemingly satisfied.  A shrug of the elegantly cloaked shoulders seemed to dismiss the issue.  But then —

“And I am  _certainly_  not  _your_  lord.”

The young Prince simply did not know what to do.  Though undeniably true, was such a reply not  _exceedingly_  rude?  He thought so, but then again, he had been told many times that one could never tell with these old Noldor…

Erestor laughed aloud.  “Forgive me!  Lindir and I do enjoy having a little fun with our Silvan guests.  And in the fine Silvan tradition — which I admire greatly — we do not make exceptions for royalty.”

The Exile (who was, in point of fact, very much still a lord, though only a  _de jure_  one - the issue was, truth be told, rather complicated and had, in the late Second Age, been a source of serious contention within the valley, contention instigated mostly by Erestor's wife -- who was herself a lady of  _very_  high birth, though not of a lineage that was suitable to discuss with this particular guest) nodded to the Prince, with a slight tip of his cup, in clear salute.  And knew that this latest generation of the House of Oropher would be  _far_  easier to deal with than the first had been.

 

* * *

  _Stones, Kings, and Brothers: T.A. 2938_

* * *

 

"Tall ships and tall kings, three times three.  What brought they from the foundered land, over the flowing sea?  Seven stars and seven stones, and one white tree."

This rhyme was memorized by children from Rivendell to Dol Amroth, or at least by those who had chosen their parents well.  The counsellor waited expectantly as the fosterling repeated the words.

"But that's nine kings and only seven stars and stones!  What happened to the other two?"

The boy showed promise!

"Perhaps, Estel, seven stars and seven stones were all they possessed.  Even Kings must share some things among themselves."

"Oh.  Like Anarion and Isildur shared Gondor?"

"Yes, more or less.  One kingdom, two kings.  They did quite well, for a while.  It was my honor to know both sons of Elendil very well.  One day I will tell you of them."

"Tell me now!"

"You are not quite ready, Estel.  Soon enough.  But for now, know that they were brothers, loyal both to each other and to their father Elendil, the High King.  Both did many great deeds."

"Brothers?  I guess that would make it easier to share.  I wish I had a brother."   The boy looked down sadly for a moment.  "I mean, I have Elladan and Elrohir, but they're so  _old!_   I wish I had a younger brother."

Erestor at first held back a laugh at hearing the twins described as "old".  But then it occurred to him that the brothers Elrondion were no longer young by any standard.  Nearly twenty yeni had passed since their begetting.  That he still thought of them as little more than children made  _him_  feel very old, for a moment.  How time had flown...

"I, too, wish you had a younger brother, Estel, but it is not to be.  However, as you grow up, you may find Men you account as your brothers, and that is almost as good.  In my youth, I had only a sister, but Tyelpo was as close to me as any brother could be. And here in Imladris, I account Glorfindel a brother.  Though we argue over which one of us is the elder!"   _I do hope you find such friends, young one._

Suddenly Erestor knew he would one day tell this mortal child the true tale of the seven stars and stones.  Why seven for nine kings, indeed?   _Because, of course, only seven had been made._   For another set of brothers who had braved many perils, and been as loyal to one another as they were to their father.

But he would not tell the boy that tale any time soon.  Not until he had grown, seen battle, and borne the hardship the Elf sensed was his doom to bear.  Perhaps not before he was old and grey.

 

* * *

  _The Pedant: T.A. 2940_

* * *

 

"And, so, Estel, the Elves can remain Houseless, if they wish. Not so for Men. When Men die, they pass entirely out of Eä. We know not where their feär go."

Unconsciously, without looking up from his paperwork, Erestor interrupted. "And what,  _penneth nin_ , of the spirits of Men under the haunted mountain of Rohan, near the Dimholt? Are they not houseless feär?"

Elrond suppressed a laugh. "Erestor, whom are you addressing?"

"It is long indeed since I called you 'penneth', my Lord. But the question stands. Are they not Houseless?"

Elrond sighed. "Estel, I will teach you a new word."

But as he explained it to his foster-son, he could swear he heard someone  _very_ faintly singing 

_"Oh! Tra-la-la-lally…"_

 

* * *

_On Orc-Killing: Mirkwood, near Dol Goldur,T.A. 2941_

* * *

 

Elven swordsmen charged while archers of three realms fired continuously from beyond the range of their opponents' bows, striking only Orcs amid the swirling fray.

Glorfindel needed not the encumbrance of armor. Glowing like a Vala, he threw the Orcs into fear and confusion, destroying their order. Any Orcs unlucky enough to come near met swift ends at the point of his sword.

Celeborn, in the shining armor of Doriath, was little less fearsome than Glorfindel, mowing down Orcs as if they were harmless creatures.

Thranduil wielded both sword and long-dagger, stabbing or slicing with one even as he deftly used the other as shield. His Silvans ran hither and thither, shooting from close range or knifing Orcs in the back as opportunity allowed, saving many swordsmen.

Erestor wheeled like a demon, his sword slicing cleanly through all it touched - scimitar, shield, armor, flesh and bone. The Orcs quickly learned to fear the blade, but Erestor ran them down, wreaking vengeance on the murderers of his children.

**Author's Note:**

> In my verse, Erestor's wife (Hithriel) is Celebrimbor's extracanonical-but-not-anticanonical sister.


End file.
